


Tarantula

by ninassield



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gen, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:53:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninassield/pseuds/ninassield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A predator doesn't show mercy, no.<br/>It ambushes the prey and lets its fangs tear it to shreds, end of story.<br/>Haizaki Shougo is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tarantula

The pipeline of that shitty motel was definitely about to collapse.

He could hear the noises of fatigue coming from the cylinder, as faint as they were, and it was driving him  _mad_.  
She kept on moaning, hissing, biting his collarbones with unbelievable force.  
All great and everything, if the name escaping her lips was actually his.  
News flash, it wasn't. Not that he cared much for that sort of thing.  


They finally fixed the tubes.  _Fantastic_.  
He registered the absence of sounds coming from the ducts as her eyes were shut and her lips reduced to a thin, pale line.  
Was he that disgusting?  
 _Look at me, dammit._    
The pipes started shrieking again.  
  
  
She crawled back to her husband and he crawled back to that filthy place, bar or whatever. He ordered his seventh shōchū and consumed it in a heartbeat, ignoring the usual burning in his throat.  
It wasn't the booze, was it?  
Nah, it was probably the booze.

  
He meets her exactly one year later.  
Even though she's working in the cubicle right next to his messy desk, he doesn't notice her, not immediately. It takes a loud gasp as she drops a stock of folders on the tile floor and feverishly bends down to gather everything to get his attention. Shougo's head snaps up as his lifeless gaze scans her carefully: prominent cheekbones and tight ponytail. Prude bitch.  
Everything goes to hell when she introduces herself and weakly shakes his hand, her lips turning into a genuine smile and shit shit  _shit._  
  
  
There were no dates.  
He saw her, he wanted her, he took her.  
Her eyes were open as he pushed inside her and  _fuck_ , they were still open and vibrant when he started devouring her, feasting on her flesh and tasting every inch of it. He was rough and sweaty and cruel, but she kept on staring at him, piercing through his rib cage and violating the most private parts of him, infecting his insides without permission.  
 _Christ, stop. Stop looking at me._  
I'm disgusting and y _ou're beautiful, you're so beautiful._  
  
  
It was a slow process, pathetically slow for that matter.  
Her cheeks were costantly afire, her smile was crooked and her mouth was covered in lip balm and damn it all, she  _fell in love with him_.  
"I'm not changing anytime soon, you know."  
"I don't want you to."  
She got him good, she fucking got him  _so_  good.  
  
  
Sex between them follows a pattern, some sort of scheme he can't quite shake off. Her hands are small and warm on his back and he's everything but warm, he's cold as steel and sharp as the knife forged with it. He cuts her, invades her, sucks the life out of her lungs and then wastes it, throws it away like it's nothing because  _it is_  nothing, she's nothing to him, she _has_  to be nothing.  
Yeah, sex between them is like a tarantula abusing a ladybug.   
That's what he is, that's what he's always gonna be. Fucking tarantula.  
  
  
Their first fight is the most meaningless shit he's ever come across, but it destroys her anyway.  
He was drunk over his head and she was porcelain, fragile and precious porcelain, and of course he broke her, of course.   
The pieces were scattered on the floor and he never learned how to glue things back together.   
She knows how to cleanse his bruises, though.  
  
  
Shougo's life starts to revolve around her pink cheeks and he's not prepared to face this, he's not ready to be someone's pillar, he's not ready to be  _anything_.  
He's a monster and she's a wonder, a force to be reckoned with.  
No matter how many times he tears her apart, she always manages to stand up and brush it off only to mend _his_  soul, like  _he's_  the one in need of consoling.  
She's slowly become his backbone and shield and it's terrifying, it's fucking terrifying.  
Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot.  
 _Run away. Run and don't ever come back._  
  
  
It takes him two years, but he eventually accepts it: she's never going to leave.  
Her gentle eyes kept on looking at him for the whole time, never once judging or despising.   
He's not disgusting to her, no.   
He's someone to save, to protect, to cherish through every fucking mistake he punctually makes, and there's no way for him to bail now. He could, damn right he could, but he  _doesn't want to_.   
 _So this is love_ , he thinks as his eyes stab through the back of her head, committing every single movement of that tiny body to memory while she clicks her tongue and frowns at the TV.   
 _It's not so bad_.  
  
  
He fucked up.   
He immensely, spectacularly fucked up - for real this time.  
It was a night like any other, he came home completely hammered and she was there to fix it, except he didn't want her to.  _Not again_.   
Not when the circles under her eyes were darker than his fucking soul, not when her light was so miserably dim.   
He wanted her to stop, to find some dignity and give up on him, he wanted be the one destroyed instead of being the destroyer, he was willing to let her walk all over him and break him over and over again just for her, just to see her smile again, except she didn't want to. She was fucking stuck with him and he had to do  _something_. And so he did.  
His hands clawed on her shoulders, nails digging in the flesh as he screamed his lungs out without stopping to breathe.  _Go away, you disgust me, just go, get lost. Get lost.  
_ She never heard the words he really wanted to say and fuck it,  _fuck everything_ , she was never going to hear them.   
  
  
 _You're so warm._  
 _You killed me and then built me back together._  
 _I love you._  
 _I always will._  
 _I'm sorry I'm a tarantula._  
 _I'm sorry._  


* * *

  
  
One had to wonder how hard it could be to fucking fix pipes in the 21th century.   
He was back in that fucking motel, laying on a creaking bed and mentally counting the drops raining from the ceiling. Maybe he could solve the problem himself, huh. Yeah, he probably could, but it would've been a pain...everything was a pain these days.  _Everything_.  
Thing is, you can't possibly fight absence with alcohol just like you can't fight silence by screaming.   
  
  
Ah, his throat burns again.   
It definitely isn't the booze.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to noijakupls, crossposted from my tumblr (ninassield)


End file.
